Google

Google is an amazing tool, everything you will ever need right there at the click of a mouse. Also everything you don’t need, will never need, and shouldn’t be wasting your time with.

Case in point: There are only so many ways to describe the human body in motion. In motion in private. In motion in private behind closed doors. Body parts in particular are a bit of a toil. If you don’t want to get into ridiculous euphemisms, and I don’t, you find yourself writing the same words over and over… and how exciting is that?

My solution is Google and its lovely gateway to synonym heaven. Google rarely fails me, but she does lead me astray. I wish I could blame Google, but the fault is mine. When faced with the siren call of her lovely connected links, I have no self-control. I wander in her never ending forest and lose myself.

It’s shameful, but I have been known to wander Google’s paths for hours. Hours spent researching a detail that I may or may not end up using in my book. What can I say? I’m a weak, weak person.

Google’s rather like the universe’s largest department store, you go in looking for one thing and come out with something else. Sometimes that something else is pretty damn funny …

penis waving

Aimer at Amazon

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In Defense of Drivel

I read and write M/M Romance novels, what I call Bubble Bath books because — never mind. These books have zero angst and a happy ending. No child molestation, no sexual assault, no creepy serial killers; nothing that’s going to keep me up at night trying to erase an image I wish I’d never read.

No, they’re not literature. No, they won’t help me heal the ozone layer or tell me how to get that next promotion. No, they are not kernels of wisdom from the great minds of our time — and that’s the point. They are an escape from the aggravations of real life. They are a mini-vacation. They are an opportunity to turn my mind off. They keep me sane.

Is it a waste of time to sit in a hot tub, to get a massage, to go camping, or sit by a lake and torture poor unsuspecting fish? No? Oh, it’s relaxing… exactly.

It is not a waste of time to read drivel.

Gena Showalter, author of The Darkest Night, refers to romance novels as fairy tales for grown-ups.  Who needs Disney?  🙂

Aimer at Amazon

Mistaken Identity

What’s in a name? Shakespeare notwithstanding, a whole hell of a lot.

Aimer Boyz is my pen name. It means To Love Boys. I thought it was a natural fit for someone who writes M/M romance, but I’m just now realizing as I write this that translated into English… it makes me sound like a pedophile. Crap. Crap. Crap.

Not only did I choose a rather questionable name,  but I compounded the error by deciding that a picture of two men kissing would be the perfect feature image for this blog. In my defense, I thought the picture said, “Hey, this is what I write.”

A picture, like any art form, speaks through the person who views it. While I thought the image of two men was a clear representation of my genre,  some visitors to my blog assumed it was a clear representation of me. Some were annoyed when they found out I was not who they thought I was.

I do not post my picture here, I do not use my real name. I’m not trying to deceive anyone, I merely want my words to stand on their own.

I apologize to anyone who might have felt duped. It was not my intention.

Tonight, I changed my feature image to something that is hopefully more innocuous. Obviously, I still have a lot to learn about blogging.

Please tell me I’m not the only one who’s screwed up 🙂

Aimer at Amazon

Are You in Your Books?

It’s inevitable. It’s not always a conscious act on the author’s part, but it’s always the end result. Bits and pieces of the author find their way into their characters. This character’s favourite ice cream,  that character’s  height, eye colour, sleeping habits, exercise routine. All the personality quirks that make a fictional person feel real? They work because they are stolen from a real person, usually the author.

This is as true on the larger scale as it is on the small. Is the space alien an atheist, does the vampire support transgender rights, does the fictional mom running car pool in suburbia support legalized euthanasia? The answer lies in the author’s own belief system, in the author’s concept of morality.

There are also times when an author can be seen through a character that expresses the exact opposite of the author’s own feelings and beliefs.

At the base of all fiction is a kernel of non-fiction and that kernel comes from the author. No matter how dystopian, futuristic, or paranormal the novel, it is that basis of real that makes it read as true. Bits and pieces of the author filtered through their characters make the book authentic.

Case in point: The fact I write about Vampires says something about me 🙂

Are you in your books?

Aimer at Amazon

Crazy

You know that promise you make to yourself? When you swear you will never do this  (behaviour of choice) again, ever? And then, of course, you do it again. Crazy, right?

Some time about the middle of my last book, I told myself never again. I sucked, no one was ever going to read my books anyway, why was I putting myself through this … you know the rant.

Done. Finished. Over.

A secondary character whispered to me. Wisps of scenes and conversations tantalized and teased and …  (insert faourite expletive here)!!!

Okay, not over. Not done.

I’m writing book two in a trilogy. Crazy? Yes.

I’ve gone crazy and I won’t be back anytime soon.

But this is it. This trilogy — which at the moment amounts to a whole 400 words followed by no freaking idea — and I’m done. Really 🙂

Aimer at Amazon

A Little Blood

 

 

Sweet Spot

Despite this picture of pastel perfection, I’m not talking about food. I’m not talking about the right place to hit your golf ball or that singular spot on your body that melts your mind. Sorry.

I’m talking about an author’s sweet spot; those few golden days between the last edit and publication. That slice of heaven when your book is pure genius — before it jumps out on Amazon and … no one cares.

No one buys it, you PayPal account is laughing at you, and a reviewer destroys any desire you might ever have to write again. Fun times.

If you’re sitting in the sweet spot, enjoy. Sit back, crack open a bottle of wine or that new pint of ice cream, enjoy that feeling of accomplishment. Bask in the bliss — before you hit publish.

I intend to 🙂

 

Aimer at Amazon

If

If I had stopped to button my coat or buy a coffee

If I had skipped class that day

If I had gone to another library or another school

Would I have met you?

 

If you had not worn pants that hugged your hips

If you had not walked through the turnstile right in front of me

If you had not said,  “Hey.”

Would you be at my side now?

 

Would you be at my side still

When your hair has thinned and mine is grey?

 

Why you, why me, why us?

 

Aimer at Amazon

 

 

 

Waiting

My manuscript is on someone else’s laptop. A stranger is reading the book I’ve been working on for over a year and I’m cringing.

Thanks to the anonymity of email, I will never have to look this stranger in the eye. Never know if he/she rolled their eyes as they waded through my pages or yawned with boredom. Never know if they laughed at their screen and called out to their partner, colleague, or dog, “Listen to this. Can you believe this crap?”

Paranoid—who me?

I’m waiting. I want and don’t want to know. Is it even worth fixing? Worth the inevitable rewrites, the time I should be spending on the treadmill?

Why am I doing this again?

 

Aimer at Amazon